


Life Must Go On, Though Good Men Die.

by miss_slipslop



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Angst, Death, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_slipslop/pseuds/miss_slipslop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The week before Char’s graduation from Yale, she gets a card in the mail from her grandfather. <br/>It’s a simple card, really. There are balloons on the front, and “Congratulations” written in fancy script. Char’s gotten tens of others just like this one. It makes her smile though, to see that he’s signed the card himself. Again, it’s simple. Just “I’m so proud of you, love always” scrawled inside, but it means a lot to her. " </p>
<p>Charlotte comes to grips with the true definition of loss after college. Takes place with in the same verse as Trust. Triggers for angst, anxiety, and grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Must Go On, Though Good Men Die.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuxKen27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxKen27/gifts).



> A mix of Nicky/Char friendship fic, along with angst. Hopefully you won't find this too angsty though! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! 
> 
> Loads of thanks to lucida for the hand holding and encouragement with this fic.

The week before Char’s graduation from Yale, she gets a card in the mail from her grandfather. 

It’s a simple card, really. There are balloons on the front, and “Congratulations” written in fancy script. Char’s gotten tens of others just like this one. It makes her smile though, to see that he’s signed the card himself. Again, it’s simple. Just “I’m so proud of you, love always” scrawled inside, but it means a lot to her. Her own father might be a jerk, and refusing to come to her graduation (even though he loves telling acquaintances that his daughter is an _Ivy League graduate)._ She’s not as close to her dad’s side of the family anymore either, due to the combination of her parents’ divorce, and being so busy with college, she rarely has time to take the train to New Jersey and visit. Even so it’s comforting to see the card, to know that despite not visiting in a year,  her grandfather still loves her. 

She slips the card into her purse, thinking she should call to say thank you, talk to him about how excited she is for medical school in the fall. Sometimes, she feels horribly guilty about how removed she’s become from her father’s family, especially with her grandparents. She used to be so close to them, would even spend half of her summers at their old house in Westchester County, right outside of New York City. Then, they had decided to sell the house because it was too much maintenance, and shortly after that, her parents had gotten divorced. One thing Char has discovered about getting older, all too harshly, is that nothing is ever permanent. 

Nothing is ever permanent, and everyone just keeps getting older. Char feels this the most strongly every time she looks at her grandparents. It’s hard to see them growing frailer, limited in their activities. She remembers going on road trips with them, her grandfather taking her sailing in the Hamptons, her grandmother cooking elaborate, five-course Christmas dinners. She knows it’s childish and immature, but sometimes she hates change, wishes she had a device capable of freezing time.

Char dislikes thinking of her grandparents as incapable, and she can’t even bring herself to contemplate any deeper. She understands though, that her grandfather has been in poor health for the past ten years. Heart problems, and mini strokes, and countless surgeries. Her mother jokingly refers to him as “the man with nine lives,” and Char can’t help but agree. In the last year, she’s gotten so many calls saying this is going to be the end, only to find out the next day, he’s fine. His mother had been the same way, lived to be ninety-five. Her grandfather is eighty-five now, and Char only hopes that he’s going to be the same way. She wants him to see her graduate from Johns Hopkins medical school, for him to know that yes, she made it. 

Bottom line, she should call him tonight. 

She had one last final to study for though, and it’s her most brutal. Then, her mom calls about graduation plans, and Nicky calls to bitch about finals, and then they have to talk about his graduation (Char is amazed that he graduated Princeton in three years, and so happy they’re starting med school together in the fall), and before she knows, it’s one in the morning.

\---

_Two weeks after graduation_

Char still can’t believe she has a diploma. In so many ways, it seems like only yesterday, she was getting her acceptance letter from Yale. Time really does move faster, the older you get. High school had seemed to drag on for an eternity, but Yale, which had been some of best four years of her life, had ended all too abruptly. As excited as she is for medical school, she’s going to miss it. Yale had been a reward for surviving high school. It was no longer her and one friend (well, her and Nicky) versus the world, but a united front of geeks who loved cracking jokes about chemistry until one in the morning. Sometimes, it hits her that she’s not going back, and she feels the slightest bit of sadness. It’s another change. 

She’s lying out on a chair in the back porch. A book is on her lap, but for once, she isn’t reading. There’s too much on her mind to focus on the words. 

Inside the phone rings, but Char doesn’t get up. She hears her mother answer it, and snippets of the conversation. Lots of “yes” and “mh-hm,” and “well how serious?” Char’s not concerned though. Her mom gets calls like this from work all the time. She closes her eyes, doesn’t move until a few minutes later, when the back door opens, and her mom sits on the chair next to her. 

“Do you have to go into work?” Char mumbles, eyes still slightly closed. “It sounded like someone was calling about a case.” 

Her mother hesitates, before replying--

“That was your father, actually. He’s in New Jersey right now.” 

Char is about to reply that no, she still doesn’t want to see him, or go visit him in Manhattan, and no, him buying her a dress on 5th Avenue still won’t make up for anything. Especially refusing to come to her graduation. In some ways though, Char’s glad that he didn’t, because that would have meant snippy comments between him and her mom, and awkward coordinating of post-ceremony dinners, and inevitably, some kind of argument.

Instead, it had been her mom, Nicky, and Nicky’s parents, and that had been perfect. She’s not going to lie. Sometimes, she thinks she would sell her soul to have a father like Nicky’s. Someone who’s steady, and reliable, who she would actually go to for advice, and never, ever makes promises he can’t keep. 

She stops herself though, when she hears the last part of the sentence. 

“He’s in New Jersey?” She asks. Her heart is beating slightly faster, as she thinks of the conversation, her mother asking “how serious?” “Is everything okay?” 

Her mom sighs. “Your grandfather has to have surgery to fix a couple blocked arteries tomorrow. Routine procedure, but you know his health isn’t good, so your dad’s worried.” 

“He’s had that surgery before,” Char says. “And every time he does, dad is melodramatic and says it’s the end, and every time, grandpa’s fine.” She picks up her book again. 

Her mom gives her a careful look though. 

“What?” 

“Charlotte, what’s the number one rule of being a doctor?” 

Char rolls her eyes, mainly because she doesn’t want to think about it. 

“Well?” 

“Never promise anything,” she mumbles. 

“Exactly. More than likely, he will be fine. He’s been fine the last few times. He survived a quadruple bypass, but nothing is ever set in stone, or guaranteed with surgery. It’s always a gamble.”

“I know,” Char says, quietly. “I know. It’s just...I can’t think about--” 

“I know this is more personal. It’s not one of your case studies--” 

Char gets up from her chair. She understands her mother’s point, but right now, she can’t hear it. She has four years of medical school to get a tough skin, and she would rather not start with a family member. 

“I’m going to Nicky’s,” she calls, over her shoulder. 

\--

Before she leaves though, she hesitates, remembers the card from two weeks ago, how she still hasn’t called, because life is so busy. It’s stupid though. She’s home now, and has no excuses. Besides, “never promise anything” is still echoing in her ears. 

So she picks up the phone, and dials her grandparents’ number. Her grandfather answers on the second ring. Char would never guess that he’s going in for surgery tomorrow. He sounds like his usual self. Upbeat, even. She tells him about graduation, about medical school. He says he’s proud of her, that if she’s not too busy, she should come visit soon, the guest room’s always open. He appreciates the call, but don’t worry, he’s going to be fine. The doctors even said it. 

She talks for about twenty minutes, then says she has to go, to keep her posted about the surgery. 

Of course, he says. And he loves her. 

“I love you too,” she replies, hanging up the phone.

\---

A few days later, Char is sitting on the couch, once again reading a book. She’s been reading a lot lately, to try and distract herself. Things with her grandfather aren’t looking good. She only knows small details, from what her father has told her from short, clipped emails. Still in the ICU. Critical condition. Hasn’t woken up from surgery yet. Nothing good. A very small part of her is still holding out hope. He’s always fine, is going to shock everyone and pull through this and then as soon as he’s okay again, she’s going to visit. For a good solid week. 

She admits that she’s been petty about going to their new house. Char knows that she despises change, that she holds a vice grip on old memories, never wants to let them go. Since her grandparents moved four years ago, Char has visited twice, and every time she’s gotten home, has whined to her mom that it’s not the same, that she hates everyone getting older, that she and her cousins aren’t close anymore, that her grandparents get frailer every time she sees them. 

Still, it’s not fair of her to distance herself, just because things aren’t the way the were. Some things, the important things, are the same. The times she has visited, she’s walked in, and her grandfather is always sitting in his favorite chair, reading some thick book. He puts it down when he sees her though, face lights into a smile. “Hey Char,” he’ll say. “Get over here and give me a hug.” 

He always gives the best hugs too. There’s a security about her grandfather that Char has always loved. When he hugs her, she always feels a little bit more solid, like things are more than likely, going to work out. Even though he can no longer really come to the door when she arrives any longer, pick her up and swing her around, the feeling remains. There’s other things that are still constant too. Like the fact that there’s still always two kinds of ice cream in the fridge, and she still always rummages through the books in his study, picks out favorites to read. He’s still an amazing storyteller, loves to sit her down and talk for hours about when he was growing up, how his parents had come to America with hardly anything, but he’d paid his way through college, then worked his way up through the New York Stock Exchange, until he had an office on Wall Street. 

“Connections don’t get you anywhere,” he’d told her the last time she’d visited. They’d been sitting at the table (sharing a bowl of chocolate ice cream together, just like they used to do when Char was little). “Perseverance and working your ass off does. Remember that.” 

He’d then launched into one of his favorite stories, about how when he was little, he always vowed he would own a Cadillac someday, and now he’s got three--” 

The phone ringing startles her out of her reverie. Her mom’s at work, so she supposes she’ll answer it. It might be Nicky, after all. 

“Hello?” 

“Charlotte? It’s Dad.” 

Normally, Char would make some snappy comment, like that obviously, it’s him. She knows what his voice sounds like.  This time though, she doesn’t, because her father sounds exhausted. On the brink of tears, even. The last time she’d heard him sound like this was when she had been eight, and they’d gotten the news that her grandfather needed a quadruple bypass. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks, trying to keep her voice level. “Tell me everything.” 

As her father talks, she tries to pretend she’s listening to a normal case study. It works, for the time. The facts are cold, hard. The doctors had just discovered that he’d had a massive stroke during surgery. Will probably never recover. More than that, his living will states that in such an incident, he wants to be removed from life support. 

They’re taking him off the respirator tomorrow morning, her dad keeps saying. The chances that he’ll breathe again are less than 1%, and right now, the family doesn’t really believe in miracles. No, she doesn’t need to come down to New Jersey tonight, but just think of everyone. If she wants, she can come down for the funeral. 

“Of course I want to come down,” Char hears herself say. She might still be angry at her father, but there’s no way she’s staying in Connecticut if her grandfather dies--

Right. She can’t invest herself too much in the emotion at the moment. She tells her dad to call her no matter what, that she’s thinking about everyone. 

Then, she hangs up the phone, sits on the couch, and tries to read. She’s numb though, and can’t focus on the words. Memories keep popping up. She gives up on her book, and then, all of a sudden, she’s crying and can’t stop. 

Char still hasn’t moved when she hears her mom come into the living room. She doesn’t say anything, and her mother doesn’t either, just sits on the couch, pulls her close, like she’s eight again, lets her cry. They don’t move for awhile, just sit there, occasionally talking, exchanging memories. It’s all they can do, really. 

\--

The next morning is the worst. 

Char wakes up, and for one second, wonders why her eyes are sore and blotchy, when she remembers again.

To say she feels awful, is an understatement. She hadn’t fallen asleep until 5:30 AM, despite her mom giving her a sleeping pill. She just keeps thinking about how to so many people, this is another day. Wake up, go to work, crack jokes, complain about stupid bosses, come home, make dinner, watch movies, repeat. So routine.  Some people though, aren’t that lucky. Char knows this, from her mother’s job, and from all the time she’s spent in hospitals in the past few years, but nothing has hit her so closely before, made her realize just how much people take their life for granted. 

She has two options though. A part of her can’t bear the thought of getting dressed and going about her day, but what can she do? Besides, her grandfather despises laziness. He wouldn’t want her lying around, doing nothing, feeling sorry for herself. 

So she gets up, forces herself to eat a bowl of cereal. There’s a note from her mom on the kitchen counter, saying she got called in for a case, and she’s going to be home around six. She’s sorry she can’t stay home with her today, but to take it one thing at a time. 

As immature as it is, Char had been hoping her mom wouldn’t be called in today. She feels stupid, wanting her mother to be there like some incapable elementary schooler, but the thought of being in the house, with only her thoughts makes her skin crawl. 

So she gets the phone, calls Nicky. Even though she tries to sound composed, he immediately asks her what’s wrong. She ends up telling the whole story, he says he’ll be over as soon as he can get away. 

When he gets there, she’s relieved he doesn’t ask her if she wants to talk about it. Instead, they pack lunch and go to Brenner Field, crack ridiculous jokes. They stop for ice cream on the way back, then browse through books at the library, discuss for the billionth time, how amazing Johns Hopkins is going to be. The real world is scary, but having an assured place in medical school does make it a bit better. 

There’s times, as they flip through science journals together, and then drive by the Rosebud to see if they can spot Haley (and mock her relentlessly when they do), that Char almost forgets the situation. It’s always nagging at the back of her mind though, as she thinks about what’s happening now, if he’s still here, how the family is reacting. 

\--

Char is surprisingly calm when they get home, and her mom tells her that her grandfather had passed away an hour ago. While she had been eating a hamburger at the Rosebud, laughing with Nicky about how yes, Haley’s still dumb as shit. 

She nods quietly when she hears the news, relieved in a way that she’d gotten all of her crying out last night, that she’s not going to break down in front of her best friend. She lets her mom hug her for a minute, says that yes, she’s going to be okay. 

The phone rings, her mom goes to answer it. Work, from the sound of it. Char is still numb. She turns to Nicky, trying to think of a funny joke, a quip, anything to break the tension. He’s still looking at her though, almost worriedly. 

“What?” She asks. 

He rolls his eyes, then goes to the refrigerator, pulls out a carton of chocolate ice cream, two bowls. 

_Of course,_ Char thinks. _Pig livers solve all._

And oddly enough, the first bite makes her feel a little bit better. 

“Tell me about him,” Nicky says, after a moment. Then, he hesitates. “You know, if you want.” 

If it was anyone else, Char would tell them to fuck off, that there’s no way she can talk about her grandfather right now, without breaking down. Nicky though, is always an exception. Having him there grounds her. 

She gets herself more ice cream, and then tells him about going sailing (“ _You?_ You went sailing? You’re never allowed to mock Jeff and Jordan’s tea party video again”), about summers in Westchester and lying on the couch late at night, reading together. She tells him the Cadillac story, and of course, he doesn’t completely get why this is so funny, but she’s still glad he’s listening, that he cares enough to let her ramble for a good hour. 

“He sounds like a great person,” Nicky tells her quietly, when she finally shuts up. 

Oddly enough, this gets Char. She takes a deep breath, scrapes up the last remnants of her ice cream. 

“Yes,” she says, softly. “He was.” 

\-- 

“What about your graduation dress?” Her mom asks her. “That one’s nice.” 

Char rolls her eyes. She hates picking out clothes, period, and she _really_ hates picking out what she has to wear to her grandfather’s funeral. Looking through her closet, for a good black dress, makes it all the more real. 

“Mom, that one’s purple. I don’t want to wear a purple dress to a funeral.” 

“Fine. Make that outfit number fifty-one you’ve rejected.” 

Char sighs. “I’m sorry. I just--” 

“I know.” Her mother’s voice is quiet. “This is hard. I’m proud of you though, for going.” 

“I have to.” Char starts going through her closet again. “What am I going to do, sit in Connecticut? I need to do this.” 

For the the thousandth time that day, tears sting her eyes. She refuses to let them fall though. She has to focus on packing right now. Her train leaves for New Jersey at nine the next morning. Then after a brief stop at her grandparents house, it’s straight to the wake. Char doesn’t even want to think about that. She’s always despised funerals, found the idea of the open casket to be utterly morbid. The last funeral she’d gone to had been when she was ten. A great aunt of her mother’s, and that had been traumatic enough. The thought of seeing her grandfather like that makes her want to throw up. 

Her mom puts a hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to be fine,” she tells her. “Really.”

“I wish you could do this with me,” Char hears herself saying. Her voice sounds smaller than usual. More like the timid thirteen year old she used to be. 

“I know, but I can’t. You know how awkward that would be.” 

“But you loved him too!” Char bursts out. “I mean, you and dad were married for twenty years! It’s not fair!” 

As soon as the words cross her lips, she feels like an idiot. She hasn’t gotten that emotional over something in awhile. Her mom seems to understand though, hugs her again tells her that yes, it’s not fair, but things change. She has to say goodbye in her own way. 

Yes, Char thinks bitterly. Things change. Some things, like leaving high school, are wonderful. And others, like this, are just horrible. 

She pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind though, starts going through her closet. Eventually, she finds a deep blue dress for the wake (her grandfather did always tell her she looked pretty in blue), and then, at the back of her closet, a simple black dress. She’d gotten it a year ago, for some research presentation or another, then forgotten all about it. 

She tries it on, is surprised to see how grown-up she looks. Seeing herself in the mirror shocks her, even. She’s no longer a cowering thirteen year old, or a bitter high schooler with little self-confidence. She looks poised, determined, like she could take on the world if she wanted to. 

That’s what she has to be, if she wants to get through the next two days. This is who her grandfather would want her to be, and she wants nothing more than to make him proud. 

“I can do this,” she whispers. And she knows it. She’s been strong before, and she can be strong again. 

\-- 

The next morning, Char is a wreck. She can barely eat breakfast, her stomach is a bundle of nerves. It’s amazing how the confidence she’d had last night is almost completely gone, but today (and especially thinking about events to come) just seems more raw. 

A large portion of nerves has to with seeing her father again. He’s picking her up at the train station. As the train pulls out, hurtling towards New Jersey, she tries not to think about how she’s still angry at him, because he’s grieving too. Despite being so unlike his father in some ways, they’d still been close. Of course, Char thinks, her grandfather had been close to everyone. He’d put all of his three children through college, supported them without question, always called them regularly, even when they were grown and out of the house... 

“He loved everybody,” her grandmother had told her, when Char had talked to her on the phone last night. To a degree, Char knows this is true. Her grandfather hadn’t been perfect--he was picky about the people he let into his life, was incredibly blunt in situations he hated, and could be almost vicious in the grudges he held. If he did deem you part of the family though, he loved you unconditionally, without question, would do almost anything for you... 

Char feels her eyes growing heavy again, as the train rushes by countryside, and then mercifully, she sleeps. 

\-- 

She wakes up when she hears the announcement that they’ve arrived in Chatham, collects her bags, stomach still a wreck. This is it. She’s made her decision, there’s no turning back. 

She sees her father immediately when she steps off the train. He raises his hand in greeting, and then surprisingly, despite all their fights of the last four years, hugs her. A part of Char wants to flinch away, because damn it, she’s still pissed and just because all of this has happened doesn’t mean that her dad is magically, no longer a jerk. 

She also sees though, that his eyes are red, the way he hugs her and doesn’t let go for a minute. Yes, her dad is a jerk, a “fucking bastard who deserves to have an angry bear sent after him” (Nicky’s perspective, not hers), but sometimes in grief, you have to have solidarity, and he yeah, he understands. 

So she doesn’t cry, but she lets him hug her. The grief is too raw for her to do angry right now. 

\-- 

From the outside, her grandparents house looks the exact same. The lawn is still impeccably manicured, there’s still two cars in the driveway.

When Char walks inside though, her grandfather’s chair is empty, even though the scent of his cologne still fills the living room. It’s amazing how long smell stays, she thinks. 

The house is full of neighbors, bringing endless cakes and casseroles. They all surround Char when she gets in, say that they’re _so_ sorry, and it’s _so_ good she could make it. Char nods, and doesn’t say much. She’s never been one for filler conversations, and she especially hates empty professions of sadness and grief. Especially now. _You have no idea,_ she almost wants to snap at the neighbors.

She sits with her grandmother, neither of them saying much. She’s trying to keep it together as much as Char, is writing down who brought what for thank-you notes, occasionally commenting on the schedule for the wake. Char sees the look her eyes though, realizes she has never seen her grandmother look this sad, or this defeated before. It frightens her almost. She recognizes the look as the one she wears at times, the one when she’s trying desperately not to break down. 

At one point, her grandmother asks her to get a purse from the closet. Char’s relieved to have something to do (the neighbors are still making her want to throw things), but as she heads into her grandparents room, and into their closet, chills go up her arms. 

She’s never believed in ghosts, but there’s little memories of her grandfather in every corner of this room, lingering traces. His gold cufflinks, sitting on the dresser, a picture of him and her grandmother during their fiftieth wedding anniversary. She forces herself not to look, goes into the closet, and then upon seeing his shoes, his suit jackets, his shirts, still all there, loses it completely. She leans against the wall, shoulders shaking with sobs, as she realizes just how permanent this is, that this is still “their” house, but he’ll never come in here, reach for one of these jackets again. 

She composes herself a few minutes later, goes into the bathroom, wipes her eyes. 

“Fucking pull yourself together,” she tells her reflection, firmly. 

\--

It’s blistering hot when they get to the funeral home. When Char steps outside, her dress is already sticking to her back. She wants to get inside, but at the same time, she doesn’t. Funeral homes are miserable places. No matter what, there’s always ugly green couches, awful classical music, the lingering, cloying scent of carnations and lilies, and something else that Char can never completely place.  If grief had a scent though, that would be it. Char doesn’t believe in the paranormal, but she is a firm believer in places having memories attached to them, and nothing good has ever been a location like this. 

She chooses to follow people though, because really, the heat is miserable. 

They’re all told to wait in the lobby, until the rest of the family gets here. Char sits down, looks at her watch. The wake is scheduled to go on until eight, and it’s four now. She really wishes she could speed up time.

She brightens though, ever so slightly, when she sees her favorite aunt, and her cousin Hannah walk through the door. Throughout childhood, Char and Hannah had always been close. When Char used to spend summers in Westchester, Hannah had lived a block away. Even if they hadn’t seen each other for months, they could always pick up where they left off, used to laugh for hours together, watch Disney movies, compare favorite books, swim at the pool... 

Then of course, they’d gotten older, and changed. The curse of growing up, of no longer just being able to laugh about anything, but instead fumbling for awkward scraps of conversation had taken ahold of both of them. Char had gotten even more serious about school, and was considered a nerd and a geek at SHS. Hannah had become a cheerleader and then started hanging out with a crowd that drank heavily on the weekends, horrified her mother when she said she didn’t want to go to college. 

None of that matters anymore though. Char does remember how close they used to be, wishes for some of that back. She knows too, that their grandfather had supported Hannah these last few years, bailed her out of some difficult situations, even given her money for debts. Looking at her cousin, Char can tell she’s a wreck. 

She gets up from her chair, heads over to the main door.

“Hey Hannah,” she says, simply. 

Her cousin looks at her, eyes over-bright. 

“Char,” she says quietly, throwing her arms around her. 

Again, it’s the solidarity, the understanding that they both know exactly what the other is feeling. There is nothing fake about this, no syrupy, canned apology. Feeling Hannah’s arms around her, Char can’t help but start crying, and then, they both lose it. 

“Damn it,” Hannah says, as they break away. “I’m going to look like a raccoon. Stupid mascara.” 

Char smiles slightly. Of course her cousin is worrying about how her eye makeup looks.

She’s about to say something more, when Hannah mutters--

“Oh shit. Don’t look, but Aunt Gretchen’s here. No doubt wanting to make this all about her.” 

Char snorts. Of her grandfather’s three children, Hannah’s mother is the only sane one. She’s the oldest, and then from there, it all goes downhill. There’s Char’s dad (self-explanatory), and then their sister Gretchen, the baby of the family, who’s patronizing and annoying and prone to either theatrics or saying the exact wrong thing, at the wrong time. 

“She’s been making a scene for the past two days,” Hannah whispers. “Like, theatrical bawling. My mom’s about ready to kill her.” She pauses. “Ugh. She’s _so_ irritating.” 

In spite of the situation, Char can’t help but start laughing. For one second, it feels like she and Hannah could be ten again, gossiping by the pool.” 

“It’s good to see you again,” she tells her. 

Hannah smiles at her. “Yeah you too. Maybe next time, we’ll get together when things don’t completely suck.” 

Char starts laughing again, as they walk in together. 

\-- 

The laughter fades though, as soon as they enter the main room. As soon as Char hears the classical music, sees the endless flower arrangements and the photos of her grandfather (one of him and his brother, standing on the Brooklyn Bridge, laughing at something...him in uniform during World War II...him and her grandmother, arm and arm...one of him with herself and Hannah, years ago, sitting on the porch of the old house, all smiling widely...), it all just seems too real. Then, she can’t even look directly ahead, at the casket covered in roses. 

She’s not even aware of grabbing Hannah’s hand, of the fact that her knees are threatening to buckle, that tears are streaming down her face-- 

“Charlotte!” A new voice has joined them, one that Char really doesn’t want to hear. “Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. It’s okay to cry though. He loved you so much, and you were so close to him when you were little--” 

“Aunt Gretchen,” Hannah’s saying. “Now really isn’t--” 

Of course, their aunt is ignoring Hannah, is now hugging Char. “I’m so sorry,” she says again. “Do you want to go up and see him?” 

The absurdity of this statement makes Char recover completely. She’s pretty sure she’s just given her aunt what Nicky calls her “look of death,” and she doesn’t even care. She knows that in her hard of hearts, her aunt means well, maybe thinks this will be some kind of closure, but really, this isn’t what you say to someone when they’re sobbing.

Hannah however, is thankfully on the same page. 

“Are you kidding me?” She snaps. “Are you deranged?” 

She nudges Char’s shoulder again. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” 

Char can’t help but nod. A part of her wants to stay in the main room and support her grandmother, but she’s also pretty certain that if she does stay, she’s going to punch her aunt (who is now weakly protesting that they have no right to get mad, and she can’t believe Hannah would use that kind of language). 

They slip out of the room, go to a smaller sitting room, where they talk for a good hour, filling each other in about their lives. Char tells her about Johns Hopkins, about Nicky (“Ooh is he your _boyfriend?”)._ Hannah talks about how she wants to go back to school, that she’s tired of just fucking around, that she wants to eventually get out of New Jersey. They laugh about old memories, skating around the big things, because neither of them wants to start crying again. 

At one point, Hannah asks if they should go back in. They decide that they probably should, but they can wait a bit more. Neither of them are in the mood for small talk. Char points out that what she hates the most about funerals is that you want to grieve, but people you haven’t seen in years still expect you to tell them what’s going in your life, put on a show. It drives her a little crazy how such a somber event is turned into a social affair. 

Hannah’s mom finds them a bit later, sits with them. She quietly tells them that he loved them both so much, that he’d be so proud to see them here tonight. Char nods, eyes cast downwards.

“It’s going to be okay,” her aunt tells them, and Char tries to believe her. 

\-- 

Char hates that after a four hour viewing last night, they have another two hour viewing the day of the funeral. She can sit in the main room now, but she still doesn’t want to go near the casket. She’d looked briefly last night, before they left, and had been shocked. Her worst fears had been confirmed. It was not her grandfather lying there, but a mere shell. She’d hurried away, thinking that she’s already said goodbye, that she can remember him as he was, not what’s in front of her. 

Today, she sits in a pew with Hannah and her aunt again, trying to talk about normal topics. Again, simple things. Classes Char’s going to be talking, how’s she hoping to going into neurology. Discussing school always makes her feel at ease. 

They’re interrupted as one of the priests begins to speak again, talking about saying final goodbyes. He tells the family to file past the casket, one last time, before heading out to the procession. 

Char only pauses out of respect. As she does so, a poem she’d read in high school echoes in her mind. 

“.... _Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind//quietly, they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.//I know. But I do not approve//And I am not resigned.”_

There is no final goodbye, Char thinks. No right time to do this, no moment that this is going to be remotely okay. He’s always going to linger, both in memory, and in the pain of losing him. Yet even though we don’t approve, hate every second, this must happen. Now more than ever, she feels as if life can be a tricky, never-ending, vicious cycle. 

She swallows, thinks “I love you” for a moment, then walks out with Hannah. As they do so, their Aunt Gretchen stops them, openly blubbering, and asks if either of them have a Xanax, because she just can’t handle things right now. 

Char gives her another look, and then she and Hannah can’t help but burst out laughing again. If there’s one thing Aunt Gretchen’s good for, it’s absurd comedy, maybe with a bit of tragedy mixed in. 

Yes, she thinks. I am not resigned, but life does go on. We’re all still here, getting in our cars. Aunt Gretchen’s still an idiot. Hannah and I are becoming close again, and somehow, someway, I can still manage to laugh. 

\-- 

Her grandfather had chosen to be buried in Westchester, because he loved New York, and the land surrounding it. He’d grown up in Manhattan, worked there, but Westchester was where he’d settled with his family, eventually built a home where he’d lived for thirty years. It’s fitting, Char thinks. The cemetery he’d chosen is only a block away from his old house. 

Currently, the funeral procession is taking the route of her childhood, the drive they used to always take to get to Westchester. It’s bizarre. Sitting in the back of the town car with the rest of her family, she’s lost in memories past, thinking of how when she was little,  she would bounce with excitement seeing the sign welcoming them to New York, how crossing over the main bridge was the sign that they were only ten minutes away from their grandparents house. She always knew the exact turn too. Right at the street with the Dairy Queen at the corner, because that’s where her grandfather would always take her and Hannah to get dip cones. 

They don’t turn there today, but keep driving. Char sighs. It’s been an hour long drive from Chatham, but she’s had plenty of thoughts to occupy herself. She doesn’t know how she’s gotten through the past day and a half, but somehow, she’s managed it. There’s been so many speeches and “I’m sorrys,” and many, many more tears (she’d given up completely at the funeral this morning), but soon, it’s all going to be over. 

She’d been shocked at how many people had come to the funeral today. Latecomers had been forced to stand in the back. Char had heard endless stories of what a great man he was, how he was tough and determined and sometimes blunt, but always fair, how he never hesitated to help the people he thought needed it. Hearing these stories gives her comfort, in an odd way.

And now, she thinks, as the limousine stops at the cemetery and she gets out, all she can do is try to be as good as he was. To have the life he would have wanted for her. 

She despises how casual the graveside service is. It’s the true “final goodbye,” the laying of roses on the coffin, but then, after the last words have been spoken, everyone gets back in their cars again, preparing to eat pie at the church. Death is dealt with in such an odd way, Char thinks. We bury them, and then an hour later, it becomes business as usual.

In a way though, that’s how it has to be. People would go mad otherwise. The normal patterns of life must continue. That’s what her grandfather would want. He would tell Char to dry her eyes, eat a bowl of ice cream for him, tell a good story.

And even though all she wants to do is collapse in a room and cry, she can’t. It still hurts. She still can’t consider the reality that she’s never going to see him again, never going to be able to hear his stories, or tell him about school. Then, she definitely can’t start feeling the guilt, start beating herself up that she didn’t spend enough time with him in the past four years. 

She knows a few things though. That she’s never again going to take things for granted, for one. And that second, she can’t cry right now, because even though he’s gone, she has to keep going. She has to keep thinking of him, of how he would want her to be happy. Keeping the memories, taking the parts of him that Char knows she has. 

She no longer has him, so right now, that’s all she can do. 

She resigns herself to this. 

\--- 

“I’m going to miss him so fucking much,” Hannah says. 

It’s evening now. Once again, Char has survived apologizes and anecdotes and small talk. The last guests had left her grandparents house hours ago, and then, on a whim, Hannah had asked her if she wanted to drive back to Westchester, maybe see the old house. 

Char had readily agreed, because she’d been going insane, sitting around the house, and it has been good to catch up with her cousin again. As awful as the situation is, some positive things have come from it. This is one of them. 

They’d been pretty quiet on the drive up, then gone by the old house. It’s strange to see new cars in the driveway, but oddly familiar and soothing at the same time. Taking the road there, seeing the house again had been weirdly comforting to Char. 

“Full of memories,” Hannah had said quietly, and Char nods. She still hates change, but it is good to know that the house is still standing, that other people are enjoying it. And as much as she longs for those simpler days sometimes, there’s a small part of her, looking at the house, that almost feels like she could let go. That she can remember the familiar, but also push into the unknown. Either way, she’s glad for these memories, for what her grandparents had been able to give her. 

They’d driven on to the nearby lake after that, are now sitting on the dock where they used to go paddleboating as kids. They’re passing a bottle of wine between them--Hannah had stopped on the way, said they needed it, and Char can’t help but agree. She’d almost asked for something stronger, even. Tequila sounds pretty good right about now, but she’ll drink that with Nicky when she gets home. 

“I’m going to miss him too,” Char says, quietly. 

“He was the best.” Hannah takes a gulp of wine. “There was no one like him. Like, I’m serious. He was the sweetest guy ever, but also one of the most honest. And you never knew what the hell was going to come out of his mouth.” 

Char nods, thinking of his famous bluntness that would occasionally emerge. 

“You know what he said to me, like a year ago?” 

“What?” Char asks. 

“At the time, my life was a fucking mess. I couldn’t hold down a job. I was partying every night--don’t give me that disapproving look of yours--had just broken up with boyfriend number bazillion. Anyways, I was over at the house, bitching about how lame and tragic my life was, and grandpa agreed to help me--I don’t know why, but he always did. Then all of a sudden, he looks over at me and very seriously goes ‘I’ll help you this time Hannah, but eventually you have to learn that life is a shit sandwich, and sometimes you have to wake up every morning and take a bite.’ I mean, seriously. Who says that?” 

Char can’t help it. She bursts out laughing, until tears are pouring down her face. 

“Clearly, he said stuff like that,” she says, finally managing to get it together. Hannah’s been laughing too, is also wiping her face. “There is some truth to that super crass saying.” 

“I know,” Hannah tells her. “He was fond of that. Giving wisdom in really weird ways. And it stuck with me. I mean, how could it not? I was a mess, and I needed to take responsibility.” She sighs, sticks her feet in the water, shakes her head. “Yup. You never knew what the fuck was going to come out of his mouth, but it was always going to be completely honest and accurate.” 

Char nods. “Not a bad motto for medical school, actually.” She takes another sip of wine, starts laughing again. 

Hannah shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re going to be a _doctor.”_

“If I can survive med school.” 

“Oh you will. I mean, you’re like a fucking genius. Grandpa would always go on about it too. You were _so_ his favorite.” 

“Shut up.” Char shoves Hannah slightly. “You’re smart too. And he didn’t have favorites. He loved all of us.” 

“Yeah whatever,” Hannah says. She’s smiling though. “And hey. When you’re not learning how to save lives, you should call me more. Maybe I can even visit Baltimore. We can make fun of Aunt Gretchen together.” 

“I’d like that,” Char says slowly. It’s shocking really, how over a period of two days, she and Hannah have become close again. They’re so incredibly different, but childhood will always bind them. 

“Yeah, we were so close as kids. It’s stupid that we grew apart. What happened?” 

“We became teenagers?” 

“Oh right.” Hannah sighs, looks out at the water. Char can tell she’s debating about saying something else. 

“What?” 

“I’m really sorry about your dad,” Hannah says, in a rush. “I know it’s been hard. If it’s any consolation, my mom says your mom is awesome, and your dad is an ass.” 

Char smirks slightly. “That does help a little. Even though I’m sorry about all this. I know he’s sad too.” 

“Yeah but that still doesn’t mean he’s not a jerk. Seriously, Char.” 

“I know. It probably won’t change anything in the long run.”

They’re quiet again for a moment, before Char says--

“Yeah, but you and your mom aren’t my dad. I’ve sort of realized this from being out here. There are good people in this family. And any time you want to come to Baltimore, you’re welcome.” 

“Yeah! That would be great. And I can meet your super genius boyfriend.” 

“He is _not_ my boyfriend.” Char rolls her eyes. “Just my best friend.” 

“Yeah sure. Totally boyfriend. You get this dopey little smile when you talk about him.” 

“Shut the fuck up, and drink more wine.” Char snaps. 

Hannah rolls her eyes, and whispers ‘boyfriend’ under her breath, as Char splashes her slightly with water in retaliation. They end up laughing hysterically again, finish the bottle  of wine as the sun begins to set. 

\--

“Just so you know,” Hannah says, as they head back to the car. “That was a way better tribute to his memory than anything in that fucking funeral home. The dock, laughing over stupid shit, a bottle of good wine...he would have fucking loved that.” 

Char nods, looks at the sunset one last time. 

“He would have,” she says.  

\--

It’s a month later, and once again, Char is lying on the couch at home, thumbing through a book. It had belonged to her grandfather. Before she’d left New Jersey, her grandmother had handed her a box of books from his old study. “He would have wanted you to have them,” she’d said. 

The one she’s reading now is a thin book of poems, by Edna St. Vincent Millay, the same author of the poem which had flashed through her mind the day of the funeral. The day which now seems so far away, like a distant dream, but at the same time, is still all too raw. It’s odd too. There’s moments when Char is fine, when summer feels normal, and then moments where she is filled with deep, incomprehensible sadness and melancholy. She hears that’s natural though, especially in this situation. The truth is, she’s lost someone who was one of the steadiest presences in her life, someone who had been more of a father to her than her actual father had. It’s going to take awhile before any of this feels okay, and there will be a part of her that is always going wish she’d spent more time with him, during the last four years of his life. 

Eventually, the pain will dull, but there’s always going to be a gap. 

She has him in her though, and so do her cousins. Even his children do, to a degree, and in some ways, this is weirdly comforting. She can continue what he began. Her mother has always been one of her greatest role models in life, but she’ll take her grandfather too. 

She takes a deep breath, and continues reading the poem she’d started.

_“Life must go on on, though good men die//Life must go on; I just forgot why....”_

\---

 


End file.
